


The Case of the Crazy Cauliflower

by RCs Many Posts (Parker4131970)



Category: due South
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-19
Updated: 2014-05-19
Packaged: 2018-01-25 18:41:24
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,688
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1658507
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Parker4131970/pseuds/RCs%20Many%20Posts
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's a hectic Monday for the Canadian Consulate.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Case of the Crazy Cauliflower

**Author's Note:**

  * For [dS_Tiff](https://archiveofourown.org/users/dS_Tiff/gifts), [Vic32](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vic32/gifts).



Meg looked like a drowned rat when she walked into the consulate. Her hair was plastered to her skull, her make-up smudged down her cheeks and she was missing a Nine West heel. In one hand she held an umbrella, half of it hanging pathetically and the other ripped. In her free hand she held her briefcase and purse, both soaked through.

“Fraser !!” She bellowed as she stood on the entrance rug dripping and shivering. March had come in like an old lion; roaring and grouchy.

The Mountie materialized into the hallway, eyes wide at her angry tone.

“Yes, Sir? Oh dear.” Constable Benton Fraser stopped short of his boss lady. Her navy pea coat had soaked through and the linen dress clung to her lithe figure like a banana and its' peel.

“Well, are you going to help me off with my coat or not?” Meg threw her hands out as her subordinate officer stood looking on. Her purse strap broke, flinging the contents down the foyer.

“Yes, Sir.” Fraser finally made himself move. Swiftly, he helped her get the waterlogged garment off.

“Thank you, Constable.” Meg began trying to adjust her dress. She only managed to get her slip twisted.

“Let me fetch Constable Turnbull, a pot of tea is in order.” Fraser hung Meg's coat on the coat tree before stepping into the sitting room. Two seconds later the junior Mountie rushed to the kitchen while Fraser tried to help the Inspector pick up her purse's contents.

“This is a Monday kind of Monday. I'm running behind, it's pouring rain, my car is in the shop, there are NO cabs in this city so I had to walk all the way. These stupid wind gusts destroyed my only umbrella and a garbage truck swerved just to drown me in a huge puddle. I lost my favorite black pumps to a massive pile of dog feces.” Meg's voice rose with every word.

Dief had come to the office door to investigate the commotion. When he saw the alpha female he wisely slunk off to his place at the foot of Fraser's cot. Upsetting the alpha female would mean no treat of pizza pockets with dinner.

“It has been an eventful morning for you, hasn't it, sir.” Fraser followed her into her office. He received an annoyed eye roll for his trouble.

“I'm freezing, what is the thermostat sitting on?” Meg went to her desk and sat down. Her cotton briefs felt damp and clammy on her tush.

“Seventy-two degrees Fahrenheit, Sir, shall I adjust it for you?” The Mountie asked politely, secretly hoping she wouldn't.

“No, the energy bill is high enough as it is. I need to change.” She tried to remember what her gym bag contained.

 _“A sports bra and yoga pants, no, that won't do at all.”_ Meg thought to herself.

“Do we each still have an extra uniform in storage?” Her mind went to the next, logical source.

“Yes, allow me to retrieve yours, Sir.” Fraser disappeared and returned a few minutes later. He carried her uniform in an oversized garment bag. In the other hand he carried her high brown boots.

 _“That doesn't change my under clothes.”_ Meg frowned, her dark brows drawn together. _“Oh well, it can't be helped, I'll have to go without.”_

“Is something amiss, Sir?” Fraser's question pulled her out of her thoughts.

“No, Constable. Thank you.” Meg rose to take the hanger from him.

Fraser could almost feel the chill on her skin. She was hauntingly beautiful, her fair skin pale, her dark hair wet and even darker. Meg looked like a wet elf.

“Thank you, Fraser.” Their fingers touched. Fraser felt his collar begin to tighten.

“My pleasure, Sir.” He tugged on his collar, nearly loosening the Velcro closure.

Meg pulled away before her own blush rose to betray her feelings. She disappeared into the hallway and then the bathroom. Quickly, she stripped off her linen dress, slip and unmentionables. As much as she dreaded it, Meg pulled on her jodhpurs, undershirt, (which she made sure to pull down as far as possible) and Henley. They were dry and warm.

She took her boots back to her office. Fraser met her in the hallway, a sheaf of papers in hand. Meg saw his eyes drift from her drying hair, down the antiquated, red uniform, to her bare feet. He blinked repeatedly when he saw her toe nails. They were painted the same shade of red as their flag and decorated with white, racing stripes. He hadn't expected that. When he looked up, the Mountie saw his boss lady's narrowed eyes and pursed lips. Ben swallowed hard.

“Are those the expense reports for last month?”

Fraser looked down at the files he carried. “Ah, yes, I forgot to make copies for the redundancy files.” He almost fidgeted.

“Carry on, Constable.” Meg nodded curtly before side stepping him and continuing on her way.

 _“Did I see a certain sparkle in his eyes?”_ Meg wiggled her toes at the thought. She was glad she'd painted them on a whim.

***

Fraser stood at the copier, making sure each page turned out perfectly. He could still see those racing stripes. Dief's nails clicking on the hardwood floor alerted him to the old wolf's presence. He sat on his haunches beside the machine, enjoying the warmth on the cold, damp day.

“You have a fur coat, how can you be cold?” Ben asked, sorting papers. Dief looked up at him pitifully, his amber eyes round.

“You aren't _that_ old.” Ben reminded him. It felt too hot in the consulate to suit him.

“Inspector Thatcher, Constable Fraser!” Turnbull's voice carried through the first floor of the consulate. He sounded terrified. Fraser popped his head out of the copy room. Thatcher's head peered out of her office door. There, in front of them stood Constable Turnbull and a man none of them could identify.

“Hello, hello, here we go.” The intruder greeted them with a cheesy grin. He had a tight, rat face with dark, greasy hair.

“What is the meaning of this?” Inspector Thatcher demanded. Hands on her hips, she stood in the middle of the hall. She didn't intimidate the new comer.

“Hello little lady, let me introduce myself,” He gestured freely with a sawed off shotgun, “I'm Milt Cauliflower.”

Turnbull pulled away. He saw Fraser walking slowly closer.

“What do you want? Why are you here?” Thatcher demanded, her tone sharper.

“Today is the day I don't like red.” Cauliflower announced as if he were simply saying hello.

The Mountie shared a three way, silent exchange of “Is he for real?”

“Sir, may I ask why you dislike the color?” Fraser asked calmly.

“It's too bright, it draws too much attention. Too much attention and THEY come and get you, take you away.” He seemed to draw into himself for a moment.

“Why did you choose the Canadian Consulate?” Fraser asked again, trying to think of a way out of the situation. Looking closer at Cauliflower, he noted the man's slip-on shoes and ill-fitting khakis.

“I saw this one standing on the sidewalk and I saw red. Red has to go, YOU, have to go.” Cauliflower pointed his shotgun at the Inspector.

Ben stepped forward, hoping to draw the gunman's attention away from her. He felt her step up beside him.

“Mr. Cauliflower, who is THEY?” Fraser asked, biding his time. The man looked at him wildly, his narrow eyes blazing.

“THEY ! They are spies, agents of RKB. They've been after me for years. I'm not that easy to catch, oh no, not easy at all.” He began to ramble a little after that. Fraser felt relieved to see Dief slinking in the front door, fangs bared. The Mountie felt his superior officer breathe a similar sigh of relief.

“Thank heaven, Diefenbaker!” Turnbull cried out when he saw the wolf.

“Who?” Cauliflower dragged the junior officer backward, toward the door. The wolf stepped closer, growling low in his throat.

“Tell it to chill or I make holes in blondie here.” The mad man pulled Turnbull's arm up behind his back. It felt painful, but to his credit, Turnbull never let on.

“Diefenbaker.” Fraser took hold of his collar, calling him back. Reluctantly, the wolf sat back on his haunches. He looked up at Fraser, disappointed at being unable to eat a bad guy for brunch.

“Sir, is there any way we can come to a compromise? Perhaps we could change into our other duty uniforms?” Fraser suggested.

Meg hoped something so simple would solve the problem. She wasn't counting on it.

Cauliflower shifted from one foot to the other, thinking. His beady eyes looked the three Mounties over carefully.

“Our other uniforms are a lovely shade of brown.” Thatcher lied. She could care less about the other uniform, simply wanting to wiggle out of this situation. Meg prayed Fraser could use his unique gifts this time. She'd read enough incident reports to vouch for his skills.

“I HATE brown! Do you hear me?” Cauliflower screamed, waving the shotgun. Meg ducked behind Fraser.

“I hate brown, brown clothes, brown eyes, brown hair, all of it!” His voice carried through the whole first floor of the consulate.

“In here, NOW!” Cauliflower motioned toward the Inspector's office. All four captives edged back into the office. Turnbull tried his best to stay stoic but his shaking hands betrayed him. Meg felt her anger rising. How dare this mad man hold them hostages! Fraser tried to decide the best course of action. He examined the the situation from every angle.

Cauliflower took Turnbull's handcuffs and secured him to the security bars on the outside of the window.

“You're next, woofie.” Cauliflower leveled his gun at Dief. “Tie him up, especially that muzzle.” He ordered Fraser.

“What will you do if we don't?” Meg demanded, arms crossed over her chest, trying to be intimidating.

With one blow, Cauliflower knocked Turnbull out cold. His eyes never left the Inspector's gaze.

“Perhaps we should cooperate, Sir, at least for the moment.” Fraser stepped up and spoke close to her ear.

Meg turned, her coldest stare. “You are a moron, Fraser, there are three of us and one of him.” She hissed in reply.

Cauliflower pointed the shotgun at her desk and pulled the trigger. Shards of wood and the desk lamp scattered everywhere. Meg screamed and grabbed Fraser's arm.

“Tie. It. Up.” Cauliflower demanded. Slowly, Fraser took off his lanyard and tied the end around Dief's muzzle and tied the end to his collar.

“Now, tie her up.” Their captor used the shotgun to bully them together.

Fraser took off his Sam Browne and took Thatcher's hands. Their eyes met, locking for a moment. Meg saw his Atlantic blue eyes soften for a moment.

“My turn.” Cauliflower took Meg's belt off and tied Fraser's hands securely.

“This is a fine mess.” Thatcher whispered as Cauliflower tied their hands together. Turnbull lay slumped face forward against the wall. Fraser and Thatcher stood back to back, hands bound.

“We'll, triumph, Sir, don't worry.” Fraser sounded a lot more confident than Thatcher felt. All Meg could do was sigh.

“Why are you here, anyway?” Cauliflower walked all the way around the pair.

“We represent the Canadian government.” Fraser launched into the whole spiel. Even Meg was was ready to strangle him.

“Yeah, yeah, but why you, the three of you specifically?” Cauliflower ran his free hand through his thinning, greasy hair. He had calmed down, for the moment.

“I first came to Chicago on the trail of those responsible for my father's death, and for reasons that need not be addressed at this juncture, I have remained, attached as deputy liaison officer with the Canadian Consulate.” Fraser answered with emotionless, practiced ease.

“What about you, girly?” The mad man circled again. To Fraser he appeared to have been recently released from an institution.

“I was promoted, this was my first, international posting.” Thatcher grew defensive, bristling. Cauliflower smirked at her, his dark eyes gleaming maliciously.

“Ooh, Miss Priss, you did or didn't sleep with the wrong person.” Their kidnapper threw his head back and hooted at her humiliation.

“I have always served with honor and distinction, to the best of my abilities.” Meg growled, squaring her shoulders defiantly.

“Well, that answers that!” Cauliflower bent over, slapping his knee and laughing hysterically. Meg began trying to slip out of her bonds but Fraser had tied them too securely.

“Untie me, you lunatic! Wait until I get my hands on you.” Meg began dragging Fraser backward, toward Cauliflower.

“Sir,” Fraser called, “Inspector Thatcher.” The next thing either Mountie knew, they were laying on their side in the middle of the office carpet.

 _“Thankfully, she prefers thick pile.”_ Fraser thought to himself. Meg muttered a curse.

“Whoa, Red, you're going to hurt yourselves doing that. Now that the three of you are here, They'll leave me alone. The three of you red lovers instead of me. Sounds like a fair trade, doesn't it?” Cauliflower's whole demeanor changed. He'd grown quiet and deathly serious, his gravely voice coming like thunder.

Fraser watched the shotgun carefully. He hoped and prayed Ray would drop by the consulate. Dief walked over to his human, whining.

“I would say four, but dogs are color blind.” Cauliflower laughed mirthlessly.

“You nut job, you won't get away with this!” Meg hissed, squirming.

“Get away with it? NO. Get away from THEM, yes.” Cauliflower sighed. He fished around in his pockets for a moment, handling the gun as casually as an umbrella.

“What are you planning on doing, Mr. Cauliflower?” Fraser asked, working on his bonds.

“Now I'm planning on getting out of here, and finding a juicy steak.” Cauliflower pulled out a handful of dull brass buttons. One by one, he dropped them around the Mounties. He made a semicircle around Turnbull.

“Good-bye, Miss Priss, Big Red.” Cauliflower brought the butt of the gun down in Fraser's face. Dief growled but there wasn't a thing he could do.

Cauliflower walked out of the consulate without even shutting the front door.

“Fraser, wake up.” Meg started squirming and trying to kick him. “You moron, wake up, that's an order!” she used her 'Inspector' tone of voice.

Her subordinate officer groaned a few minutes later. He felt like someone had hit him in the head with a brick.

“Constable Fraser, you have to get us out of these.” Meg kicked backward.

“Just a moment, Sir.” Fraser moved around a bit before releasing himself. Next, and much to Meg's ire, he freed Diefenbaker.

“Well, go after him.” Meg ordered as Fraser untied her.

“Yes, sir.” Fraser and Dief left the office on Cauliflower's trail. Thankfully, the rain had slackened to a mist. By the time they hit the sidewalk the mad man had disappeared. Fraser turned and went back inside. Meg stood over Turnbull, her arms crossed.

 _“Should I or shouldn't I?”_ she thought to herself. _“Oh, forget it, he's more useful this way.”_ She turned back around at the sound of Fraser's heavy steps.

“Cauliflower had disappeared, Sir.” The Mountie picked up the phone and dialed the Twenty-seventh Precinct. Ray (K) Vecchio was on his way in a few minutes.

“Help me get Constable Turnbull free.” Meg had second thoughts. To leave him would be cruel.

Together, Ben and Meg freed Turnbull and woke him up. The junior Mountie was profoundly grateful. If it weren't for Thatcher's reproachful glare, he might have hugged them both.

After calling Ray, the three Mounties cleared out of Thatcher's office to preserve the scene. The twenty-seventh's finest arrived a few minutes later, a pair of uniforms on his heels.

“Hey, Fraser, what's goin on?” The detective called out when he arrived. His GTO shone like a dark gem.

“A mad man came in here and tied us up at gunpoint.” Inspector Thatcher answered testily, hands on her hips. The dress reds did amazing things to her naturally fine figure. Fraser gave her a quick once over as he stood behind her on the consulate stoop.

“Did he say why?” Ray pulled out his notebook.

“Mr Cauliflower stated something about hating the color red. I have reason to believe he may have escaped or been recently released from a mental health facility sometime in the last forty-eight hours.” Fraser volunteered finally.

“Okay, one at a time here, what happened? Benny, you're first.” Ray and Ben walked over to the GTO so the Mountie could give his statement. Thatcher gave hers, followed by Turnbull. All three took forever and contained great detail. Fortunately for Ray, Turnbull was out for most of the commotion.

“We'll get the crime scene techs on it. Come down to the station and get up with the sketch artist. Soon as that's done, I'll get this guy's picture on the street.” Ray outlined his plan of action.

“I would suggest contracting all the mental health facilities in the greater Chicago area.” Fraser suggested.

“Okay, you do that.” Ray grinned wickedly.

“If I may, Inspector?” He asked for permission.

“Allow me to retrieve my purse and I'll accompany you.” Thatcher turned quickly to go inside.

“For Pete Sake,” Ray groused, rolling his eyes. Dief rounded the building, ready to leave and hoping for a bear claw.

Fraser had already folded himself into the back seat beside Dief when Thatcher slid easily into the front passenger seat and closed the door. She'd left Turnbull in charge of the uniformed police milling around the consulate.

“Onward, Detective.” The Inspector gestured resolutely.

“Tally ho!” Ray quipped sarcastically.

***

“One Milton Cauliflower, slipped out of the Chicago Mental Hospital yesterday, stole a sawed off shotgun from an employee's truck.” Ray read the info Frannie gave him. She shot Fraser a flirty glance only to see the Inspector glaring back at her.

“He's got a long, nasty record, starting with a dishonorable discharge from the Army during Vietnam.” Frannie expostulated.

“Great, a nut job with at least basic, military training.” Thatcher said sourly.

“From what you all told me, Cauliflower's a short timer.” Ray shrugged, handing Fraser a copy of the assailant's composite sketch.

“Hopefully, the man's a menace.” Thatcher grumbled. “Talking about RKB, whatever that is.”

Ray's head snapped up, all ears. “Like Randall K. Bolt?”

“Not that lunatic, not again.” Meg covered her face with her hands.

“This is a turn of events. Bolt and his family are safely behind bars. Cauliflower and Bolt must have crossed paths while incarcerated.” Fraser hypothesized.

“Oh great, another one of _your_ cases.” All Thatcher saw was another stack of paperwork on her desk. Cauliflower had blown her desk to smithereens. That made Meg groan again.

“What is that supposed to mean?” Fraser turned to Ray, confusion and hurt in his expression.

“I'll tell ya later, buddy.” Ray said quietly.

“Understood.” Fraser nodded, still hurt.

“Frannie, what's Cauliflower's last known address before the mental hospital?” Ray specified.

“A no-tell motel.” The Civilian Aide wrote the address on a sticky note and handed it to Fraser with an open, friendly smile.

“Thank you kindly, Francesca.” The Mountie nodded politely before collecting his Stetson and following Ray and Thatcher outside.

“Me and Fraser can handle this, Inspector.” Ray stopped short of the GTO. He didn't want the 'Ice Queen' tagging along and bossing them around.

“No, I'm going. End of discussion. Now, if you'll be kind enough to open the door, Detective.” Meg gestured toward the car where Fraser and Dief had already taken the back seat.

“Your wish is my command, Highness.” Ray's tone dripped with sarcasm as he opened the door.

 _“Damn straight!!”_ Meg thought to herself.

***

The three investigators arrived at Cauliflower's previous address across town. Dief bailed out after Ray and began sniffing around. Meg stepped out and surveyed the unsavory motel critically. One of the neon lights hung dark and the whole place needed a fresh coat of paint and an exterminator.

“Why makes you think that Cauliflower would come back here?” Meg asked as they entered the lobby.

“People who have been institutionalized are very often creatures of habit. They prefer things and places that are familiar.” Fraser supplied, tipping his hat to a passing street walker.

Ray asked the clerk if Cauliflower had been seen around. The clerk directed him to the second floor, third on the left. Meg took a few steps back when a brazen roach came out from beneath the refrigerator. She clapped her hand over her mouth and clutched Fraser's arm momentarily.

“Ugg, how do people live in such filth?” She appreciated her high browns and the protection they afforded her.

“Life Styles of the Not so Rich and Famous.” Ray quoted the title of a popular, Country song.

“Being poor has very little to do with uncleanliness, Detective.” Meg pointed out. “Fraser lived in a run down tenement and he remained impeccably clean.”

“Fraser'd stay clean if he lived under a cliff.” Ray dismissed her. He began riffling through a haphazard stack of papers on a broken coffee table. Finding nothing, he swore.

Constable Fraser began with the bedroom. It was more of a cell; one window high in the wall, a closet barely wider than the Mountie's broad shoulders, a twin bed, unmade, and a ragged dresser. Only a few, old clothes lingered, and a pair of muddy boots. When Meg walked in he had his hunting knife out, taking a scraping from the sole. She watched in disgust as he dabbed mud on his tongue. She couldn't believe she'd ever wanted to kiss him. The very thought sent a shudder through her.

“Constable Fraser, is that completely necessary?” Meg interrupted his taste test.

“No, Sir, but it does expedite the search.” Fraser wiped the mud off the eight inch blade and slipped it back in its' sheath. Meg had to give him that.

“Bingo!” Ray's voice called from the kitchen. Fraser and Thatcher went to join him. The detective stood facing the wall, an almanac calendar in hand. In his other hand he held his cellular phone to his ear. He handed the crumpled calendar to Fraser.

“Thanks, Frannie, later.” Ray ended the call and slipped his cell into his coat pocket.

“Cauliflower marked an appointment down for tomorrow, with Dr. Payne.” Fraser handed Meg the calendar, noting how her lovely eyes squinted to read the suspect's sloppy handwriting. She flipped back, looking for an address or notation.

“Frannie's checking all the psychiatrists' offices in the city, she'll let us know what turns up.” Ray filled them in.

“She may not have to, here,” Meg handed Ray the calendar, pointing to a note in the corner of he page; 1868 Chenowee Street.

“Nice one, Inspector.” Ray tore the page off the calendar and strolled away.

“Ray, that's tampering with evidence,” Fraser replaced his Stetson and followed the detective toward the door, stopping to allow Meg through first.

***

Cauliflower kept to the shadows, still carrying the sawed off shotgun. Bolt had told him to keep a sharp eye on the Mounties, that they had a habit of getting the upper hand.

“I've got you in my sights, Reds, in my sights.” Cauliflower muttered to himself.

***

Dr. Payne's office stood in a gray area, not quite upscale, not in the slum. Most of his patients came to him from the county; referred by halfway houses and drug programs. Howard Payne enjoyed his work, mostly. Helping people change for the better, growing as a person, felt rewarding.

Ray and the Mounties walked into the small office lobby just as Dr. Payne escorted a patient to the receptionist's window.

“We're looking for Dr. Payne.” Ray pulled his badge out and flashed it for the receptionist.

“I'm Dr. Payne.”

“We're here in regard to one of your patients.” Meg took the lead. She couldn't wait for Fraser to be longsufferingly polite and the American's harsh manner would be ineffectual. Her husky voice carried throughout the waiting area, calm and professional.

Ben wondered what her voice would sound like at a whisper.

“I'm not at liberty to discuss patients.” Dr Payne's tone matched the Inspector's.

“Perhaps we should discuss this in a quieter place.” Constable Fraser suggested, noticing the waiting patients' eyes on them.

“This way please.” Dr Payne lead them to his office. A few diplomas, a tropical calendar and a Hobby Lobby landscape hung on the white walls.

“Is Cauliflower one of yours or not, Doc?” Ray asked bluntly after closing the office door.

“Yes, but that's all I can say.” Dr. Payne dropped into his chair with a thud.

“He's dangerous.” Meg began, “ Cauliflower took my junior officers and myself hostage, threatening us with a shotgun.”

Dr. Payne blinked, processing the information. “I'm sorry, I didn't catch your name, Ms?” He fixed a stony gaze at the petite figure in red standing over his desk like a drill sergeant.

“Inspector Thatcher, RCMP, currently assigned as chief liaison officer with the Canadian Consulate here in Chicago.” Meg filled him in quickly, rising to her full height; proud and tall. Fraser found himself straightening.

“She for real?” Dr. Payne turned to Ray.

“Yep, sure is.” The detective nodded.

“Milt Cauliflower was released from prison due to over crowding. He's harmless, he wasn't a violent offender. Milt is afraid of fire arms.” Dr. Payne stood again, unconvinced. “You must have the wrong man, Inspector.”

“Caucasian male, approximately five foot nine inches, brown eyes, severe overbite with a weak chin and an elongated, bulbous nose, loose limbed with a slight build?” Fraser asked, trimming his description after Thatcher glared at him half way through.

“Where can we find the rat faced loon, Doc?” Ray translated for the bewildered psychiatrist.

“That's confidential, Detective, I'm sorry.” Dr. Payne shook his head, folding his arms over his middle age paunch.

“I would very much hate to contact my counterpart with the State Department.” Meg leaned over Dr. Payne's desk, her voice a lush purr. She gave him her most persuasive glance.

Dr. Payne leaned forward too, arms still crossed.

“Go ahead, and I'll tell them the same thing I've told you.” His tone purred just as Meg's had, his dark eyes narrowed.

“Go bluff somewhere else, I have patients to see.” Dr. Payne stood up, heading for the door. All three investigators filed out of the doctor's office, disappointed.

“That was a wast of time.” Ray groused.

“Yes, it seems so.” Fraser frowned, straightening his Stetson. Meg could see the wheels turning in his head. She waited, wondering when he would let them in on his hunch. So far they had a delusional ex-convict, mention of an old foe, and dirty boots.

“Anyone else hungry?” Ray asked, a few steps ahead. The misty atmosphere and wind blew through his lean frame.

“Inspector, would you care to eat with Ray and myself?” Fraser stopped beside her.

“Yes, it would be a good opportunity to discuss the investigation.” Meg met his blue eyes, barely remembering to breathe. They were so blue, they sometimes startled her.

“I agree. Where shall we eat?” The last part he asked to no one in particular.

***

Cauliflower kept the shotgun beneath his coat as he tailed the Mounties and their American friend. He pulled an apple out of an inside pocket and took a cracking bite. The red witch kept an eye on the Constable, just like Bold said she would. She was sufficiently distracted. The American couldn't find his toes at the end of his feet. Only the Constable seemed to be aware of his surroundings. Milt wondered where the wolf kept himself. The white, lupine/canine mix usually accompanied the Mountie everywhere.

Milt pondered this as he turned and walked back to the consulate. He had two things to pick up along the way.

***

Little Rosa's served a bacon cheeseburger even Fraser complimented. They hand pressed the patties and fried thick, maple cured bacon to put on handmade buns. It took Fraser a bite or two to identify all six spices in the hamburger.

Ben and Ray sat side-by-side in the booth, giving Meg the opposite bench to herself. After they finished eating, Ray tipped the waitress and Fraser bought Dief and Turnbull each a bacon cheeseburger to go. The wolf waited in the GTO, dozing peacefully.

“Well, we should head back to the precinct, see what Frannie's go on the scum bag.” Ray unlocked the GTO for Fraser and Thatcher.

“I believe Constable Fraser has another idea as to Cauliflower's whereabouts.” Meg couldn't wait for him to bring up what he'd found on Cauliflower's boots.

“Pardon, Sir?” Ben whirled around to look at her in the back seat.

“What did the dirt on Cauliflower's boots have to impart, Constable?” Meg looked him square in the eye. Ben blinked, raking his thumbnail over his brow.

“I detected trace amounts of fertilizer in the particulates on his boots. I would have to examine several of the local plants to determine it's origin.” He felt nervous or he wouldn't have started sounding like he'd eaten a thesaurus.

“I'll call Turnbull, he should be useful in compiling a list of plants in the Chicago area.” Meg fished out her cell and speed dialed the consulate. She listened to it ring six times before going to voice mail. Three times it went to voice mail.

“That's unusual, Turnbull should have answered after the first few rings.” Meg frowned. Surely he hadn't forgotten how to answer the phone.

“Maybe he's stuck in the crapper er something.” Ray shrugged.

No one said it but they all three wondered if they were walking into a trap.

***

Turnbull heard the doorbell half an hour after everyone left the consulate. The techs were gone. He answered the door with a cheerful smile. A slight man with a bandana pulled over his face greeted him. Before the Mountie could react the stranger sprayed him in the face. Turnbull hit the floor like a sack of potatoes.

“There you go, you poor, red minion.” Cauliflower caught the lanky Mountie and dragged him inside. Now it was time to wait.

***

Ray and Fraser allowed Thatcher to take the lead up the consulate steps. The door opened and the Inspector screamed. Both men rushed up the stairs, into a cloud of knock out gas. Cauliflower's narrow, grinning face filled Fraser's waning vision before he succumbed to the gas.

_**Hours Later ….** _

Fraser woke up to find himself on his knees, his head on Inspector Thatcher's shoulder. Cauliflower had taken Ray's handcuffs and clamped them down on his wrists. He then tied the end of the ropes binding Thatcher's hands to keep him from standing up and slipping away. On his knees, facing Meg, Fraser looked up, his gaze boring into the criminally insane ex-convict.

“Have a little love, Constable, call it a late Valentine's gift.” Cauliflower leered down at Meg, her head slumped to the side.

Fraser moved closer to the Inspector, covering her vulnerable form as much as possible.

“You're welcome.” Cauliflower cackled, kicking Ray's boots for meanness. He took his sawed off shotgun and started toward the door.

“You won't be able to get away this time. This time the five of you go BOOM!!” The thought of an explosion sent the lunatic into a fit of giggles. Cauliflower threw the door open and sauntered out, slamming the consulate's front door.

“Inspector, wake up!” Ben spoke sharply. She didn't respond. “Inspector, wake up!” He shook the roller chair.

Meg began to rouse, taking a deep breath before her eyes focused. She looked down, her gaze meeting Ben's. The Mountie saw the drowsy smile pull at her lips before her dark eyes locked onto his. Ben wondered what waking up to those eyes every morning would be like.

“What happened, Fraser?” Meg stiffened, her heart rate and breathing quickening. She hadn't been this close to him since the train. His blue eyes peered at her, the corners crinkling in concern. Meg could see faint laugh lines around his mouth, a slight pucker to his full, lower lip.

“Cauliflower used some form of knock out gas to subdue us then tied us, Ray, Turnbull and Diefenbaker.” Fraser explained, pulling on the handcuffs.

“Can you free yourself?” Meg began pulling at the rope holding her down.

“No, Sir, it appears I'm handcuffed. Perhaps I could untie you.” Ben leaned closer, trying to find the knots between the Inspector's hands and the back of the desk chair. He caught her unique scent, mixed with leather polish and laundry soap from her Henley. The Mountie couldn't help but notice her racing pulse as he fought the knots at her wrists. Did she fell as nervous as he did?

“Fraser, you're tightening them.” Meg's voice broke into his thoughts.

“My apologies,” Ben stopped short of calling her 'Sir'. Easing forward again, he scooted forward, pressing against Meg's knees. They were mere inches away. He hear her swallow nervously. Ben's fingers fumbled with the rope knotted around the metal links of the handcuffs.

 _“I'll never get this unfastened, she's too distracting.”_ Ben thought to himself.

“Fraser, do you need to get closer?” Meg asked, clearing her throat.

“Yes, if possible.” He went from looking over her shoulder to meeting her gaze again.

“Scoot back for a moment.” Meg indicated with a jut of her chin. Ben moved back, allowing her to place her feet wide.

“That should do nicely, thank you.” Ben scooted forward, the edge of the chair hitting him just below his Sam Browne.

Meg inhaled, using breathing techniques to stay calm. None of them were helping, not with Fraser so close, so warm and smelling wonderful. She wondered at the clean, masculine scent of him. Was it soap, laundry detergent or him?

“What laundry detergent do I detect, Fraser, Tide?” Meg couldn't help herself.

“No, Sir.” Ben answered, his tongue toying with his eye tooth.

“Downy?” Meg tried once more, sniffing again. Whatever the scent, it didn't have any trace of flowers in the fragrance.

“No.” Ben loosened the last of the knots tying the handcuffs to the ropes.

“Ah, at last.” He lifted his arms over Meg's head as she scrunched down in the chair.

“Sun?” She tried again, perplexed. Meg's glossy lips pursed as she studied him.

“No, I make my own detergent, it's quite cheap and highly effective. I can give you the recipe if you'd like.” Ben offered.

“No, thank you, Constable.” Meg frowned, standing up and turning around for Fraser to free her. His dextrous fingers worked quickly. The ropes hit the carpet at their feet. His hands lingered, massaging the inside of her wrists. Ben's rough thumb pad touched her tenderly, slipping beneath the cuff of her Henley. It was all Meg could do not to melt, to sink back against his solid chest.

Ben leaned forward, her hair brushing his cheek, leaving a sensual trail. He counted her pulse, its' speed climbing, matching his own. Neither of them spoke, enjoying the fleeting moment. Ben longed to be uncuffed, to slip his arms around Meg's waist and scatter kisses up and down her neck, her cheeks, her lips.

Turnbull groaned, breaking the spell. Ben jerked his hands away from Meg's wrist, leaving her reeling from lack of his touch. Meg swore and thought it was probably just as well.

“Ugg, what happened?” Turnbull sat up, his hands and feet bound. Fraser searched Ray's pockets for the handcuff keys.

“Cauliflower planted a bomb somewhere in the consulate.” The Mountie roused Ray and untied Dief.

“Constable Fraser, you and the Detective search the first floor, Constable Turnbull and I will take the second.” Meg took a woozy Turnbull by the cuff and dragged him toward the stairs.

Ray pulled himself to his feet and stumbled after Fraser, Dief dragging his tail behind. Together, they began examining every inch of the consulate; from the front door tot he rear, kitchen door.

“I've found it! I've found the bomb.” Turnbull's shrill voice split the air. Ray knocked himself in the back of the head trying to get out from beneath the restroom sink cabinet. Ben heard him swear softly but couldn't stop to check on him. The Mountie came out of the kitchen in time to see Inspector Thatcher and Turnbull carrying a large dresser drawer between them. Both were pale and sweating as they eased down the steps. At the foot of the stairs, Ben and Meg's gaze locked. He could see the desperation in her brown eyes. His heart froze in his chest. He couldn't fathom Meg being in danger.

“I've got this under control, Constable.” Meg's tone wasn't as steady and professional as she'd intended. A brave front for his sake and Ben knew it. All the silence between them couldn't take the longing out of his eyes.

Carefully, Meg and Turnbull carried the drawer outside to the curb. Fraser cleared the alley between the consulate and the lawyers' offices next door. Ray stood at the end of the curb, talking to the Twenty-seventh's bomb squad leader.

“Hey, they're wanting to know what kind a clock the thing's got.” Ray shouted.

“An analog alarm clock.” Turnbull answered, sweat dripping down his nose as they set the wooden drawer on empty paper boxes .

“How much time's left?” Ray relayed, wishing he could run already.

“Less than one minute.” Meg answered, turning away from the heavy, metal dumpster. All three Mounties hurried to the curb with Ray. They heard the alarm go off, but no explosion accompanied it. Confused, they stared at the dumpster.

“Well, that was a let down.” Ray shrugged, pocketing his cell phone. The bomb squad pulled up, sirens blaring and lights swirling. A grizzled man in his late fifties walked up to Ray, eying the Canadians suspiciously.

“What's the situation?” The name tag stitched on the right side of his uniform spelled out Lieutenant McGraw.

“We placed the explosive in the dumpster.” Meg took the lead, stepping forward.

“Alright, lady, show me.” McGraw tilted his head toward the alley. Fraser followed them toward the dumpster.

“It's Cauliflower, across the street!” Turnbull took of at a sprint. Cauliflower pulled something out of his pocket and pressed a button as Fraser watched. He took Meg in his arms and threw both of them to the ground and against the brick wall. Lt. McGraw wasn't so quick. The bomb blew sky high, sending trash and debris thirty feet into the air.

After the debris settled, officers rushed in to check on an unconscious Lt. McGraw and the Mounties. Ben groaned as a broken printer landed on his head. He held Meg tight, his ears ringing.

“Fraser, are you alright?” Meg began wiggling, turning to face him.

“Are you alright, Sir?.” He loosened his embrace.

“I think something's wrong with your ears.” Meg shouted, sitting up. Looking him over, she saw a stream of blood oozing down his neck.

“I can't hear you, I must have something wrong with my hearing.” Ben shouted back. He sat on the cracked cement, trying to self diagnose his ears. Meg pulled out a hanky and dabbed at his neck before the blood seeped onto his uniform collar.

“We need a paramedic.” Meg shouted, getting to her feet. No one seemed to be listening to her. A young, uniformed officer walked by. She grabbed the front of his shirt and pulled him down to her level.

“I have an injured officer, we need a paramedic, do you understand?” Her steely tone and blazing eyes startled him.

“Yes, ma'am.” The officer managed.

“Good, hurry up.” she pushed him toward the alley entrance.

Ray and Dief walked up, concern in the detective's light blue eyes. Dief sat nearly on top of Fraser, sensing something was wrong.

“You okay, Frase?” Ray asked, watching him closely.

“Speak up, Ray, you're mumbling.” Fraser shrugged, studying his friend's face.

Red faced, an EMT excused himself through the crowd. With latex gloved hands, he began examining Fraser's scalp. It wasn't easy with a nosy wolf, a detective, an RCMP Inspector and all the bomb squad standing around.

_**The Emergency Room ….** _

The entire, female nursing staff and two lady doctors swarmed around Fraser as he walked through the ER waiting room. Ray pulled the GTO around, the windshield wipers slapping in rhythm. Dief and Meg occupied the back seat.

“Come on, Fraser, I ain't got all day.” Ray called through the lowered side window.

“I still can't hear you, Ray, it'll be a few days until my hearing fully recovers.” Ben shouted, not knowing how loudly he spoke. Dief poked his muzzle between Ray and Fraser, glad to see his human again.

“What did the doctor say, Fraser?” Meg hollered from the backseat. After he didn't hear her the first time she poked him in the shoulder to repeat herself.

“The doctor said I should be back to normal in a few days.” The Mountie reported.

“Whatever that is.” Ray snickered. A few minutes later he pulled the GTO into a spot outside the consulate. Turnbull stood on the stoop with an umbrella to greet them. He hurried down the steps and handed the Inspector the cherry red cover.

“How are you, Sirs?” The junior officer asked, noting the white bandage around Fraser's head. He'd been hit twice in one day.

“I'm fine, thank you, Constable Turnbull.” Meg reported, stepping through the front doors. Technically, the consulate was still a crime scene. It was nearly midnight and everyone was dead on their feet.

“I'll see you later, buddy, I got paperwork to do.” Ray shouted from the door of the GTO. Fraser didn't hear him.

“I'll relay the message, Detective, thank you kindly.” Turnbull waved from the top step.

Once inside, Fraser headed toward his home/office. Inspector Thatcher had ordered him to take the next day off to recuperate. She'd also generously given Turnbull half a day off.

“I should be going, Sir, I'll see you first thing in the morning.” Turnbull stowed the umbrella as the Inspector stood looking at her ruined office. Her desk lay in splinters, her wallpaper full of holes and the wall art skewed.

“Yes, Turnbull, goodnight.” Meg sighed, leaning against the door frame. The junior Mountie collected his Stetson and pea coat before leaving.

“It's late, Sir, would you like me to call a cab for you?” Fraser offered loudly. Meg turned, startled.

“I'm fine, Constable.” She turned to face him, hoping he could lip-read so she wouldn't have to shout.

“You should be the one resting.” Meg stood up, taking a weary breath. “You've had an eventful day.”

“So have you.” Amusement sparkled in Ben's blue eyes.

Meg smiled. She'd started off the day soaked to the bone and ended up having her office ruined and nearly killed by an explosion.

“I suppose I should go home too, it's getting late.” Meg yawned, dead on her feet.

“May I call you a cab for you, Sir?” Fraser offered once again.

Meg began to laugh, imagining the phone conversation.

“No, I'll call.” She laughed harder at the confused look on Fraser's face.

“What's so amusing?” He shouted, brows drawn.

“Nothing, Fraser, I'm tired.” Meg shouted back, facing him. Laughter tears had gathered in the corners of her dark eyes.

“Ottawa won't fire you, Sir, no one could have predicted that Cauliflower was an associate of Bolt's.”

Meg laughed harder. What a day it had been.

“Let's go get a bite to eat.” She took Ben's hand, leading him toward the kitchen.

“No, Sir, I don't bite.”

Meg just laughed, too tired to correct him.

***

After fixing them both a sandwich, (it was easier to do it herself than to shout at Fraser), Meg sat down at the small table in the kitchen. Turnbull had made a fresh gallon of Orange Kool-Aid, his favorite, so she poured them both a coffee mug. They ate in silence, enjoying thinly sliced turkey sandwiches on French bread smeared with mayonnaise with a few dill pickle slices.

“Thank you kindly for the sandwich, Sir.” Fraser took their plates after they'd finished and set them in the sink. Still feeling tired, Meg semaphored 'you're welcome'. Ben complimented her on her semaphore. Both of them lingered in the kitchen, tired but enjoying the companionship. Meg could still feel Ben's thumbs on her wrists and his arms around her when he'd pinned her between the ground and the brick wall. She noticed his eyes beginning to droop. He wouldn't rest until she'd left the consulate, until he knew she was safe. Meg had seen the fear in his eyes when she carried the bomb down the stairs. She'd felt that same fear dabbing the blood away from his neck. He'd put himself in harm's way to protect her.

“I'll lock up when I leave, you have a good evening, Constable.” Meg stood to leave. She had to gather her briefcase, purse, ruined dress and shoes.

“I'm staying, I'll lock up when you leave.” Ben stood as Meg did, ready to walk her out. She shook her head. He couldn't hear thunder if he were sitting on the cloud.

“What am I going to do with you, Benton Fraser?” Meg sighed, looking down at her high browns, toe-to-toe with her subordinate officer.

Ben slipped his finger under her chin, bringing her gaze upward. Meg saw the same tenderness in his eyes she'd felt in his touch earlier in the day. She wondered if he intended to kiss her. Was he going to fan the flame they'd both felt as he untied her hands?

“Goodnight.” Gently, Ben pressed a chaste kiss against her forehead. Her skin tasted sweet against his lips.

Meg closed her eyes, peace filling her.

“Goodnight.” She spoke loudly when she felt him move away. Meg walked toward the door. For some reason she turned to look back. Ben stood in the center of the kitchen, arms outstretched.

RED SUITS YOU

Flattered and embarrassed, Meg rolled her eyes, a smile pulling at her wine lips.

THANK YOU KINDLY

She responded in kind. Small moments like that that gave her hope.

_**The End ….** _

 


End file.
